Chapter 338

Below their feet, the stone bridge paved with green slate bore inscriptions.

"These are ancient characters from my realm one million years ago!"

Hun Duolun recognized the script and immediately read it aloud:

"Perhaps this lifetime's marital bond began here, and ends here."

Instantly.

Hun Duolun and Gu Yun froze, nearly certain that these words were left by An Shi Zunshen.

For the love story of An Shi Zunshen and his wife had been passed down through ages, a timeless tale that even gods and demons would be moved by.

"Began here? Ends here? What does this mean? Did An Shi Zunshen meet his wife right here?"

Alek stared at Hun Duolun and the others, seeking an answer.

They were unfamiliar with An Shi Zunshen, but Hun Duolun must know—he descended from a close friend of An Shi Zunshen, and surely knew these details.

"He didn't meet her here."

Instantly, they were baffled—if not here, then why say "began here, ends here"?

They didn't understand, but Kamikawa Mitsu did.

Far away in Tokyo, Japan, Kamikawa Mitsu, snacking on potato chips with his sister Chihei and drinking a soda while watching the Lin Zhengying film series—Zombie Uncle—understood the meaning faintly.

In China's folk traditions, many love stories were passed down.

Such as Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl, the Seventh Fairy and Dong Yong, Xu Xian and the White Snake—these love tales were widely known.

Anyone who heard these stories also always heard this ancient saying.

"Five hundred lifetimes of glances back are needed to earn one chance encounter in this life."

Combined with the folk tales of the Netherworld, perhaps An Shi Zunshen's words did not refer to his meeting with his wife over a million years ago, but to an even earlier meeting.

As for how much earlier.

Much earlier.

So far back it wasn't even their beloved lifetime—it was their previous life!

In that previous life, before reincarnation, they had met and exchanged glances here; at that moment, their fate for this life was sealed—that was their true meeting.

Kamikawa Mitsu's gaze grew deep as he stared at the inscriptions on the bridge.

The position where these words were carved matched exactly where An Shi Zunshen had vanished.

If he wasn't mistaken, what Aleku and the others saw was indeed An Shi Zunshen—but it was a scene of An Shi Zunshen from 1.13 million years ago crossing this bridge.

This was a memory imprint left by the Naiheqiao.

Perhaps because Hun Duolun and Gu Yun were gods or demons from the same world as An Shi Zunshen, they triggered the Naiheqiao's memory.

Why had such a past image been preserved?

Kamikawa Mitsu didn't know, but suspected it might be due to Heaven's mercy for life, or perhaps the depth of their love had moved the Naiheqiao, preserving this image of An Shi Zunshen crossing it—so others might see it, so… his wife might see it.

Though we meet and love in this life, we cannot die together—yet here, on the Naiheqiao, let her know my love for you; even "Naihe" cannot overcome it.

"These words…"

Aleku stared at the inscriptions.

The characters were ancient, weathered by time, bearing the marks of immense age.

Not only Kamikawa Mitsu, but Aleku and the others—all gods and demons—recognized that these words were not carved recently, but over a million years ago.

After this,

they continued forward, encountering no one else, yet deliberately studying the green slate beneath their feet, hoping to find more inscriptions.

As expected, other inscriptions remained.

The script differed, originating from different worlds; the meaning of each character was etched into them, so even if one could not read the language, one still understood its meaning.

"Whoever dies first, waits three years on the Naiheqiao."

"A hundred years of cultivation earns a shared boat ride; a thousand years earns a shared pillow."

"If there is a next life, I would sacrifice everything to earn your smile as we pass."

"I ask not of this life, only to meet you again in the next—let us meet here, bound together for eternity."

…

Many inscriptions, from countless worlds—Kamikawa Mitsu even saw ancient Chinese characters.

As the bridge neared its end, Kamikawa Mitsu frowned.

"Strange—if this is the Netherworld, then where is Meng Po?"

Throughout their journey, they had seen no legendary Meng Po, no Netherworld ghost generals—where had they all gone?

Could the Netherworld have modernized too? Adopted automated, unmanned electronic management?

The odd thought arose, but Kamikawa Mitsu quickly dismissed it.

Through Aleku's vision, as they neared the bridge's far end, he finally saw the scene across the Wangchuan River.

No Yellow Springs, no Ox-Head or Horse-Face, no Black and White Impermanence, no Six Realms of Rebirth—none of it existed.

Before them,

a boundless expanse of dark earth.

Spears and broken halberds, cracked bronze swords, all plunged upright into the ground; battle flags stained crimson, their original colors long erased, now only a deep red.

Tattered banners fluttered violently in the gloomy wind.

Mountains and plains of skeletons and broken bones, heaps piled into hills; the dark earth cracked open, crimson blood oozing from the fissures, forming streams and rivers—grotesque and horrifying.

A suffocating aura of carnage, mixed with blood and yin energy, slammed into them.

Faintly, he saw billions of spirits wailing, fierce gods and demons howling in fury—no one could imagine what terrible war had occurred here, shattering the Netherworld's earth and slaughtering every god and demon.

Standing on the bridge, gazing far into the distance.

Across the river, this boundless expanse of yin soil held a city in its distant vastness.

The ancient city was ruined, mostly collapsed, yet even its remaining fragments revealed how grand it once was.

It was too magnificent.

Even from afar, it radiated a vast, ancient, and solemn aura; its walls rose like a heavenly barrier, ten thousand zhang tall, more majestic than Bishan.

This city, towering beyond imagination, had crumbled further still, its surface weathered and steeped in the passage of time.

No one knew how long it had endured, as if it had crossed through time and space from the primordial past.

From a distance, the ruined city looked drenched in blood, as if millions of divine and demonic corpses had poured their blood upon it, staining the entire city a deep crimson.

Ale Gu and the others were horrified.

Though they had not set foot on the yin soil across the Chuanhe, the moment they saw the gruesome scene, an inexplicable dread surged within them—a trembling from the deepest depths of their souls.

Do not set foot on this yin soil!

Absolutely not—even the slightest inch is forbidden!!

Because… you will die.

This trembling, born of the soul's primal instinct, violently struck their hearts, bodies, souls, and spirits, delivering the most intense intuitive warning.

Those who have attained the Divine realm find their intuition akin to a cosmic sense of fate.

Now, every fiber of their being, down to their souls, screamed through intuition: this yin soil was deadly—step into it, and you would die.

This place had become a cursed land, saturated with ill omen.

At their current realm, to cross over would mean certain death; they halted, standing frozen on the Naiheqiao, gazing at the world across the river.

…